


Tomorrow's Just Another Day (Time Moves In One Direction remix)

by Soulbarebones



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Escort Service, M/M, Misunderstandings, Rentboys, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-08 08:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11077467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulbarebones/pseuds/Soulbarebones
Summary: It's funny how easy it is for Merlin to forget..





	Tomorrow's Just Another Day (Time Moves In One Direction remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Time Moves in One Direction...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337297) by [TheDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragon/pseuds/TheDragon). 



> Thanks to miss_bekah and asexualenjolras for the last minute betas! All errors are mine...
> 
> TheDragon, I'm so unbelievably sorry. I turned your fluff into this hot dubcon mess. I started another smutfest-type remix for you but didn't finish it in time. Forgive me?

Merlin has tried his hand at hundreds of professions over the course of a few millennia but there is one thing he keeps going back to. Some might say that it's because he's lazy, and others that he lacks pride. Neither of the two groups would necessarily be wrong. Merlin sells his body because it's easy. It turns a quick profit and allows him the freedom to pursue his hobbies, which are many and varied. Prostitution is interesting work, even if it is dangerous, but there's a certain thrill in that too.

Currently, he works for an escort service although he doesn't always. Mostly he works for himself without the protection of pimps, be they private or corporate. But this city doesn't operate like that. Only junkies and thieves work the streets and the going rates are steeped in desperation and mistrust.

Merlin doesn't need luxury. Material wealth loses its shimmer after so much time, but creature comforts are nice. He doesn't like to live in squalor if he can manage it, and Merlin can nearly always manage it. He stays in one area only as long as it's prudent, moving on after a few months or years at most. 

He's not like other people, you see. Other people are born, they age, they die. But not Merlin. Merlin just _is_. He's always been, for as long as he can remember. It's unnatural. And other people, they seek out the unnatural. Some want to collect it, some want to destroy it. And Merlin has learned the hard way that Magick is the fearsome and misunderstood cousin of magic, which is parlor tricks and illusions at best.

But back to the escort service. Kennedy Diamond. Merlin has been working there for three months. He gets an average of two calls a week, although he'd had a bit of a popularity run one week and seen five suitors. Things aren’t what they used to be. Men pick him from a lineup on a webpage instead of providing a tired description of their fantasy suitor. Sometimes gaunt and scrawny does the trick, although these days the Hollywood body is all the rage.

When the call comes tonight, he's lounging in a twenty year old pair of flannel pyjama bottoms, so threadbare they're nearly see through. The operator gives him a name and a hotel room, which Merlin repeats back around a mouthful of curry.

It takes him an hour to get ready. By now, he is nothing short of efficient, even when it comes to shaving the coarse dark hairs from his bollocks and anus. He has a black Armani suit, pressed and waiting on a hook in his closet. It takes only moments to don. The tie knots itself beneath a glimmer of Magick and then, he is on his way.

Merlin fingers one of six condoms tucked in the pocket of his blazer. There are six more scattered amongst his pockets, and as many packets of lube. It never hurts, Merlin has learned, to be prepared. 

He barely knocks before the door opens and instead of a cocky smirk or a slightly awkward smile, he is met with a rush of words and an encompassing hug.

“Gods, Merlin, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you!” The words are carried on humid breeze to the innermost cavities of his ear, caressing his eardrum wetly.

Merlin resists shoving his index finger in there to chase out the sensation and pulls back to look at the John instead, forcing him to arm’s length with a firm grip on his biceps. Large, powerful, muscular biceps.

“Do I know you?” Merlin asks, forcing an easy smile onto his face as he pretends his palms haven't suddenly started to sweat. Merlin is his name, but one that has fallen into disuse. This month, he’s Monty, because he feels like he looks like a Monty. More than a Merlin, anyway. People laugh at the name Merlin.

This John looks like he’d laugh. He’s fit and blond with big, slightly uneven but very white teeth and eyes as blue as cornsilk. A man too pretty to need to pay for a date on a Friday night.

“You don’t remember. Of course you don’t remember. I’m such an idiot,” the John says. His expression is sheepish even as he turns, putting himself between Merlin and the door.

Merlin takes a hesitant step backwards, the smile still plastered on his face because, really, what else is he supposed to do at this point? 

“Who are you?” he asks the stranger, a question that sounds more accusatory than he'd like, given that these days, he usually tries for a bit more pragmatism.

His question brings another sad sort of smile to the John's face before he slips forward, hands moving to either side of Merlin’s face where he softly thumbs Merlin’s cheekbones.

The writing is on the wall. Even without the tingle of Magick, Merlin could have seen the impending kiss coming from a mile away. Despite the tenderness of it all, Merlin’s heart leaps into his throat and hammers out a warning. _Danger!_ it cries. _Beware!_

As Merlin breaks out in gooseflesh, he breaks the kiss and sidesteps the John, trying to get behind him, closer to the door.

“Please, don’t go,” the man says, turning smoothly, as though part of a coordinated dance. “I only just got you back...”

Merlin’s put-upon smile widens even though his sense of alarm is ratcheting up by the minute. He forces a breathy laugh and steps around him again. “No, really. Who are you?”

“Arthur,” the man says and reels Merlin back in again, then tips him against the nearest wall, peppering him with kisses. “My name is Arthur.”

The name is the same one the agency provided, which is mildly unusual. There are a lot of men who don't give their real names over the phone and he’s come to expect it. Of course, Arthur could be lying all the same.

“You know me?” Merlin asks, allowing the kisses to his cheeks and face but turning his head to the side when they approximate his lips.

“You’re my best friend,” Arthur answers with a pained whisper and seizes Merlin’s jaw so that he might kiss him properly.

“But I don’t know you,” Merlin argues through pursed lips as Arthur’s free hand meanders down his torso. 

Merlin’s Magick pulses at his fingertips. It would be easy to destroy this Arthur but he can't guarantee that he won't take out the suite, perhaps the hotel itself, if he lets it flare on its own accord. He takes a deep breath and forces it back to simmer inside of him. Over the years, he has learned to think first and act later. It has spared countless tragedies, or so he tells himself.

Instead, Merlin reaches for Arthur, smoothes his hands over his shoulders and down his back. “Sit down with me?” he proposes, glancing toward the inner portion of the room where there is a sofa, a coffee table, and beyond that, a king-sized bed.

Arthur sucks in a breath of his own, and the glaze in his eyes seems to clear a little. Nodding, he steps back, although his hands never leave Merlin’s person. They slide down until they catch Merlin’s fingers and corral them into a tight hold in his palm, then he leads Merlin deeper into the suite. Merlin forces himself not to look back at the door and instead, puts on a winsome smile as they bypass the sofa and take a seat on the edge of the bed. Arthur is so close that there is only a seam between their clothes where their limbs meet.

Merlin takes a moment to compose himself, smoothing his shirt and slacks with his free hand. He squeezes Arthur's hand for good measure and attempts to seem apologetic even as his heart tries to beat its way out of his chest. “Please, who are you?”

Arthur’s shoulders sag, and his lower lip juts out. He is as adorably petulant as he is terrifying. “You knew me as King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot.” He takes his hand back and unbuttons his shirt, showing off a stylized red emblem tattooed on his chest. A medieval crest of sorts. He draws Merlin’s hand to his chest and seems to hope that it will jog something in Merlin.

“Please Merlin, try to remember. I was your king and you, my faithful servant. We did everything together. We laughed and fought and fucked...we had adventures. _Please_.”

 

Merlin's eyes widen. Arthur is committed to this delusion, then. The vague hope that this is all some coincidental, punter role-playing fantasy slips farther away. He’s done a lot of sketchy things for a lot of sketchy people, but there is something about this whole thing that is making his stomach clench and flutter, and he doesn’t like it. Merlin’s fingers curl lightly on Arthur's skin, and his lips press into a thin line but he's made his decision. Shaking his head, Merlin stands, pauses, and announces, “I’m leaving.”

He doesn't even have the opportunity to offer to refund Arthur's money or have another escort sent because Arthur grabs for Merlin’s wrist and draws him back. “Wait...”

“Let me go.” Merlin narrows his eyes and tugs, but Arthur's hold is firm. He repeats himself but is met with a steeled gaze that leaves him with no choice but to struggle. He's thin, and although he doesn't consider himself weak, Arthur is stronger than him. What's more is that he doesn't give in and Merlin finds himself pressed down into the mattress, flattened beneath Arthur's weight. Merlin’s undulations are ineffectual so he gives up with a heavy scowl. His cheekbone throbs where Arthur’s elbow knocked him.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur breathes, but there isn't a hint of apology in his voice, only firm resignation. “I couldn't let you go again. You're all I think about. I couldn't let you go, at any cost...” After a pause, he pulls back slightly and caresses Merlin’s cheek. “Are you alright?”

Merlin surges up suddenly in the space he’s been afforded, raging againstArthur like a caged animal. Growling and thrashing, he lashes out, trying to hit Arthur with his fists and feet. They tussle and roll together, and Merlin’s body smashes into the headboard, the nearby wall, and the bed frame. After a time, Merlin is forced to surrender and he realizes that he is no longer on the bed but on the floor, one arm stretched painfully above his head where Arthur has it pinned. His chest heaves as he gulps in great breaths and sweat drips down his flushed face, running down his neck to pool in the hollow of his shoulder.

Grinding his teeth together, Merlin begins to call on his Magick, drawing it into his chest. Sod the room, sod the hotel, but most of all, sod the man who calls himself Arthur. A loose ball of energy forms and Merlin compacts it, tamping it down with rage and preparing to let it explode from him.

But just as he’s about to let it fly, Arthur settles his hand over Merlin’s face, the thick band of the ring on Arthur's middle finger clunking against his brow. Suddenly, Merlin’s energy breaks apart and rolls over his skin. It feels like he's been dipped in scalding water and he seizes up as he howls. After another moment he sends out another shock wave and another, each of them rebounding back and washing him in sizzling pain.

Finally, Merlin falls limp in Arthur’s grip and pants, exhausted from both the physical and mental exertion.

Arthur caresses Merlin’s face once more, and the ring seems to hum where it touches his skin “Let go, love,” He says it with such tenderness that it gives Merlin pause, and dazed, he glances up at Arthur.

“W-what?” 

“Your Magick,” Arthur murmurs, running his hand through Merlin’s hair. For a second, Merlin forgets himself. His eyelashes flutter. There is nothing more than a tickle at his scalp now, and he’s so tired. Arthur continues to placate him. “Let it go. You’re only going to make it worse.”

Belatedly, Merlin’s eyes snap open. “How do you know about my Magick?” His own voice is dry, hoarse from fighting.

“You told me about it. Back in Camelot, over a millennium ago.” Arthur smiles down at Merlin and smoothes the sweat-damp hair back from Merlin's brow again, sending another _zing_ coursing through him.

“I…” Befuddled, Merlin stares hard at Arthur, and tries to catch a glimpse of the ring that is apparently capable of dispellIng his Magick. Is there a chance Arthur is telling the truth, and how has he come to be in possession of such an artifact?

The thing is, Merlin has been alive for so long, he's lost track of names and faces. Centuries run together. The World Wars might as well have been contiguous. The black plague and the great flu sometimes muddle in his brain. So it’s possible... 

But, he's made friends throughout the ages. Taken the occasional lover and companion. And during the Renaissance, he was married to not one but two eccentric artists. He hasn't forgotten those. Can still recite their names if prompted, and sort them by their relevant historical periods based on the way their memories are dressed.

“Then how are you still alive?” Merlin demands, eyes narrowed. Yes, he’s suspicious. In all these years, he’s never met another immortal, and they can't all be as careful as himself. Surely someone else would have reached out by now, most of all this Arthur. He can't have been unsuccessfully chasing Merlin for thousands of years. Can he?

Merlin’s tone softens at the idea that they might have been playing a proverbial game of tag all along. “Are you like me?”

“Like you?” Arthur seems to ponder this and after a pause, his eyes widen. “You’ve been _alive_ , all this time?”

 

Merlin nods and for some godforsaken reason, tears spring to his eyes. He, who is weathered, worn, and hardened; he, who has lived a hundred lifetimes without the reprieve of death; he who has seen it all, has tears for this difficult confession.

Arthur is flabbergasted. “You… I…All this time?”

Hastily, Merlin wipes at his eyes and nods yet again. 

“No, I...I died,” Arthur says softly, sadly, and buries his face in the crook of Merlin’s neck. His hair is fine and soft, and sticks to Merlin’s sweat-damp skin, making him itch and reminding him of his on-going irritation with Arthur. He cranes his head to get away from it and blows impatiently at the fluff that drifts toward his face. 

“I’m sorry I left you alone,” Arthur continues to hug on him, and begins to gently sway. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

The pit of Merlin’s stomach slowly fills with icy acid that eats at him. It seems even less likely that Arthur would be reincarnated with Merlin’s lost memories than it does that Merlin lost them in the first place. It's a scam, a swindle, Merlin is now certain. How Arthur has managed to track him down is unclear, but he's come prepared with an enchanted ring that saps him of his powers, and Merlin is not going to fall prey to this at any cost.

The other thing that doesn’t escape Merlin’s notice is that slowly, Arthur is shifting them into a different position. After a time, Merlin feels something against his neck, warm and soft. Arthur is kissing him like the tenderest of lovers, barely a flutter of butterfly wings at his throat. But, as Arthur's lips move upwards, his ardor increases and by the time he reaches Merlin’s mouth, they become demanding.

Arthur licks into Merlin’s mouth and begins to explore every pocket and ridge. There is a space between two of Merlin’s upper teeth that Arthur seems to enjoy running his tongue over. All the while, his thumb strokes Merlin’s Adam's apple and his ring throbs against Merlin's jugular, making his Magick ebb and scatter from him.

It eventually dawns on Merlin that trapped between the bed frame and Arthur's athletic body, Magick rendered useless, he has no choice but to yield. He sags back, trying to ignore the wooden ridge of the bedframe jabbing him in the ribs and the unspoken threat of fingers curling at his windpipe. 

_Well, you came here intending to fuck him_ , Merlin tells himself as he tries to give himself over to the kiss. _You may as well enjoy yourself_...

Another, more dramatic voice butts in, warning, _This is how you're going to die after thousands of years on this godforsaken planet. Survived The Crusades, The Dark Ages, the Salem Witch Trials and the AIDs crisis only to be offed by Arthur the Ripper. Idiot! Fool! Imbecile! Cabbage head!_

The thought is almost too much to bear, and gasping, Merlin turns his head to one side, trying not to choke on the dregs of their combined spit. 

“Merlin?” There was that concerned tone again. Patronizing. Infuriating. Merlin wouldn't be in this predicament if not for Arthur.

“I’m fine,” Merlin replies stoically. “Just a little winded.” A hesitant smile had Arthur beaming. Yes, that was it, pretend Arthur was simply too good and took his breath away. Perhaps if Merlin could get on his good side, Arthur would let his guard down and Merlin could escape.

“If you're sure,” Arthur breathes, and in the next moment, attacks Merlin’s mouth again, snogging as if his life depended on it.

Merlin bunches his fist in Arthur's shirt and tugs him closer still, then begins to run his hand over Arthur's shoulders and neck.

Merlin's hand begins to roam, boldly squeezing Arthur's arse and then sliding around his hip. His fingers catch in the pockets of his slacks and tug.

“What are you looking for?” Arthur suddenly pulls back, suspicious. His eyes bore into Merlin’s.

“A condom,” Merlin licks his lips, grins, and palms the sizable bulge of Arthur's crotch. He'd come here tonight, expecting to have sex and although the circumstances have certainly changed, using his body to placate a psycho isn't much different than fucking for cash. In the end, they're both about self-preservation.

The flicker of thought passes through Arthur's eyes, and the way he resumes groping and kissing Merlin a moment later tells Merlin everything he needs to know before Arthur even has the chance to grudgingly admit that he doesn't have one.

“My pocket,” Merlin says into Arthur's mouth and twists his right hip upward, although it honestly doesn't matter which pocket Arthur reaches into, he'll find condoms in all of them.

There's more awkward fumbling as Arthur hurries to shuck his clothes, proving once more that this is a poorly planned deception rather than a jovial reunion of soulmates.

Merlin lifts his hips in accommodation as Arthur draws his pants down first, then sheepishly returns to unbutton his shirt and shove it open against the lapels of Merlin’s blazer. Coyly, Merlin suggests uncuffing him but Arthur brushes him off with a comment about how it's kinkier this way.

So they get on with it, and despite all odds, Arthur is a fairly generous lover. He sucks Merlin off with a skill born of practice and Merlin does not fake his groans of pleasure. When Merlin is nearly _there_ , Arthur slips away to don a condom and drench his fingers with lube.

Arthur's wide, blunt fingers nudge at Merlin’s prostate until Merlin digs his heels into the mattress and rocks back on them, keening all the while.

Despite his initial enthusiasm, it’s only when Merlin has been reduced to a bundle of raw and aching nerves that Arthur even settles between the sprawl of Merlin’s thighs.

Arthur whimpers Merlin’s name as he pushes inside of him, and then again as he rears back. It goes on like this for a long while, with Arthur kissing and touching him in between, and he steadily pushes Merlin toward a dizzying apex of pleasure only to back off.

It's a delicate dance to get them both _there_ at the same time, but Arthur seems determined that they should come together. And finally, in a clash of breath and bodies, they do.

Arthur's weight above him is almost too much, but Merlin can bear it. But then, it’s as if Arthur reads his mind, and with a final kiss, Arthur shifts down beside Merlin.

Merlin smiles up at Arthur and brushes the damp strands of blond hair from his face, tucking them behind his ears. “I can’t believe it...” He murmurs, sliding his hand down Arthur’s chest to his arm, then tracing down to his palm. He can feel the ring thrum against his fingers but pretends as if it doesn't bother him. And anyway, he’s caught Arthur’s attention. Arthur is staring at him with renewed interest. “I forgot you...How could I ever have forgotten loving you?”

Arthur looks dazed and blissful. He paws at Merlin, lazily petting him, and then dips down for another kiss. “I still love you...”

“That’s good,” Merlin turns the ring on Arthur’s finger idly and tries to ignore the trickle of lube that tickles the crack of his arse. “Because I still love you, too.”

It’s a shame about the ring: Merlin will never know how Arthur came by it, the enchantment that powers it, or if there are others, unless of course, he figures out how to work it into conversation within the next few minutes. It doesn't matter. It’s not a priority.

Shortly, he'll tell Arthur he has to pee and with any luck, Arthur will let him up to use the bathroom. Merlin flexes his fingers and readies himself. In a few minutes time, Arthur will be dead, Merlin will be free, and he'll start his life over again in another town, in another country, on another continent, as another person.

**Author's Note:**

> Time, why you punish me?  
> Like a wave crashing in to the shore, you wash away my dreams.
> 
> Time, why you walk away?  
> Like a friend with somewhere to go, you left me cryin'.  
> Can you teach me 'bout tomorrow and all the pain and sorrow, runnin' free?  
> ...
> 
> Time, you left me standin' there, like a tree growin' all alone.  
> The wind just stripped me bare, stripped me bare.
> 
> Time, the past has come and gone.  
> The future's far away.  
> Well, now only lasts for one second, one second.
> 
> Can you teach me 'bout tomorrow and all the pain and sorrow, runnin' free?  
> 'Cause tomorrow's just another day and I don't believe in  
> Time is wastin' time is walking.  
> You ain't no friend of mine.  
> I don't know where I'm going.  
> I think I'm out of my mind.  
> Walkin', wastin', you ain't no friend of mine.  
> I don't know where I'm goin', lost, no, no, no.  
> Time without courage and time without fear is just wasted...
> 
> -Hootie and the Blowfish


End file.
